


fashion, turn to the left

by Netya



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, and personal shopper, basically an excuse to describe pretty dresses, historia runs a humanitarian organization and it's a charity event, hitch is also in some form of catering, levi's a fashion designer, sasha does catering, sorry ymir in this au mikasa got there first, the specifics aren't important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:27:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netya/pseuds/Netya
Summary: title from david bowie





	fashion, turn to the left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PolarFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarFox/gifts).



Mikasa swears, dropping the eyeliner as her cell rings, shrill and insistent from the dresser. She lunges across the vanity, wincing at the clatter of beads against the polished white wood, and presses ‘ignore’ on the call as she straightens, giving herself one last inspecting look in the mirror. 

Levi had chosen well with her dress tonight; the chic beading drips gold down her body, casing her breasts and falling in a deep vee all the way down to the contoured ridge of her abdomen. She nods once at her reflection, kicks up her heels and heads out, dashing down the stairs and nearly tripping on her way out the door. She’s late. 

\--

Traffic is light and they arrive at the venue in record time, pulling up to the wide, circular gravel driveway too quickly and sending grit spraying out from under the tires. Mikasa waves apologetically at the valets and takes a moment to regain her composure before she heads in, hoping she doesn’t look too rushed and feeling infinitely calmer once she steps inside the great hall. Now all she needs to do is find –

Historia. Beautiful. _Radiant_ , in slicked-down pink that falls in smooth flaps down her petite knees. A large, black satin bow is knotted over her hip; crystal buttons track down from the collar of the off-the-shoulder neckline (no way she’s wearing a bra) to the tapered waist. Her heels click-clack over the tile, sweet little pumps with matching bows – her hair, pulled into a honey-sweet chignon bun, creamy pink flowers adoring her earlobes. _God, she’s a vision._

Mikasa can’t _wait_ to get her hands under that dress. 

“Mikasa!” Historia waves her silk-gloved hands, beautiful, sea-green eyes lighting up with relief as she hurries over. Mikasa smiles, striding to meet her in front of the balustrade. “Hello, my darling, you look stunning,” she bows slightly, extending her arm. 

Historia takes it, snorting indelicately. 

Mikasa smirks. 

“It’s been a _nightmare_ without you here, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to tell that _wolf_ to quit hounding me…” 

Mikasa hums, stealing a flue of champagne from a passing server and hiding her grin behind the glass. Oh, she can hardly _blame_ Ymir; her wife is quite the catch, and Mikasa knows it. Unluckily for Ymir – or ‘the wolf’, as Historia’s taken to calling her, due to her dogged (and in Mikasa’s opinion, rather pathetic) persistence, she’s just that – Mikasa’s wife. 

“Anyways, it’s going well, Sasha’s catering is _exquisite_ as usual – and the vineyard Mr. Smith recommended us is a hit – and Hitch is keeping entertainment going. I’m sure we’ll get enough sponsors – “ she bounces on the balls of her feet. 

Mikasa doesn’t bother hiding the way her eyes trace over her wife’s ample bosom. She may be a little taller in heels, but Mikasa still has over a foot on her, and it leaves her in an excellent position to peer down at the way the lining of the dress pushes out, ever so slightly, just enough for Mikasa to… 

“ – thinking I'd run away and elope with Ymir after all.” 

Mikasa snaps her head up so fast her neck cracks.

Historia gives her an amused look, reaching up to pat Mikasa’s cheek with one hand. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later, dear. Please focus on the fundraiser, now.” 

Not one to be so easily chastised, Mikasa catches her hand and pulls it to her lips. Historia’s cheeks, pale and pretty as early dawn light, flush pink as Mikasa presses one, two, three soft kisses to the glittering diamond band on her finger. 

Then she starts teasing it with her tongue and Historia pulls her hand back, squeaking a reprimand. 

“I love you,” Mikasa says quietly, private and honest and not a bit smug.

“I love you too, you – fulsome thing,” Historia mumbles, pressing her fingers to mouth to hide her smile. A round of applause crescendos suddenly as the orchestra finishes their piece, “Well then!” She says briskly, clearing her throat as though nothing had happened. “Shall we?” She holds out her hand.

Mikasa takes it, and escorts her determined, blushing wife down the aisle to the stage so she can make her speech. Historia presses a kiss to her cheek before she climbs the small carpeted stairway and Mikasa can’t hold back her proud grin. 

Maybe she’s a _little_ smug. 

She hopes Ymir’s watching.

  


**Author's Note:**

> little bit of disclaimer: referring to a romantic pursuer as a wolf/hound/dog is a common linguistic trope and isn't meant to be derogatory.


End file.
